


I’m the Lonelier Version of You

by AutumnsAwakening



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Nightwing (Comics), Under the Red Hood
Genre: Alternate Universe, Brief Sexual Content, F/M, M/M, Mentions of Canon, POV Second Person, sorry - Freeform, this is long
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-30
Updated: 2015-12-30
Packaged: 2018-05-10 09:30:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,489
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5580370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AutumnsAwakening/pseuds/AutumnsAwakening
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(I just don’t know where it went wrong).<br/>//<br/>You like to think in a different world, a different galaxy or dimension, hidden across space amidst a clutter of stars and other moons and suns, that maybe you two would’ve worked out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I’m the Lonelier Version of You

**Author's Note:**

> This is an AU with canon elements implemented throughout the story. This is also written in the second-person perspective, so if that doesn't float your boat you might want to turn back now. Other than that, hope you enjoy!

You remember this day so perfectly. Even after years of gravel and dirt and death trying to filter and smudge your memory; you still remember every single thing as it initially was: The neon bright lights, the roar of unfamiliar sounds and the smell of foreign earthly scents.

After all, it's not every day a circus brimming with a whirl of glittering colors creeps its way into the harsh gray undertones of Gotham.

And you're nothing but one of the city's many street rats roaming the charcoal streets, picking pockets of unaware businessmen, stealing unattended food from sidewalk pop-up stores, and finding comfort in the shadows of alleyways and empty spaces of decaying, rundown buildings. You know every crack and crevice of this town, where to disappear or reappear, and every shortcut to cheat your way ahead of the others, so it's only natural you take it upon yourself to sneak into the circus.

You think you could probably nick more than an adequate amount of money to pay your way into the amplified carnival, but your hands are dusty and grimy and your clothes have holes and so you know they probably wouldn't let you purchase a ticket. ( _Can't scare families away with dirty orphans running about, right_?)

So instead you swing around the corner where their elaborate trailers are parked (they're not so fancy with chipped paint and rusted doors when you're this close) and you're small enough to duck underneath the traveling motorhomes and army crawl your way to the other side.

You stick to the crowded areas of the circus, trying to get lost amidst the group of families with smiling moms and laughing dads and doe-eyed kids with awe and amazement painted in their features, and you swallow down the harboring feeling curling in the pit of your stomach.

You never had a family, not a salvageable one at least. Your dad never came around much, never looked you in the eyes when he did, and your mom was a lost cause; more in love with her crack pipe and infected needles than you, her own son. You saw her die when you were five and a half and now you're barely ten, but you still don't think much of her. Sometimes you see her in the faces of prostitutes and whores wandering around the streets of Gotham, desperate for their next fix, but her fleeting image is escaping your memory each passing year more and more. Besides, you've taken better care of yourself than she ever had and soon you probably won't even remember you had parents in the first place.

After spending a half an hour sightseeing, you become bored and decide to sneak into the large red and white canopy in hopes of maybe seeing an elephant or other exotic animal up close. What you find instead is something nearly as ethereal and transfixing.

It's a boy about your age swinging through the air in the most fluid, graceful motion you've ever seen. You know he's some sort of trapeze artist, like the kind you've only read in the discarded books you've found lying in dumpsters or swiped from coffee shops, and he moves like a dream, like an illusion.

When he lands on the other side of the tent you're near, you forget you're an uninvited loitering street rat, you forget you're not hidden in a crowd, and you hear yourself clap once before freezing as the sound echoes across the empty space. A few workers and practicing acts snap their attention to you and your face grows hot with embarrassment as a surge of panic rolls up your spine.

You quickly fall back into the shadows and run.

* * *

"I'm sorry," says the pretty redhead standing in front of you, and she really does sound sorry. She frowns, continuing, "but my manager told me unless you purchase a drink, you can't stay here."

Your eyes flick to the window of the coffee shop, your skin prickling at the sight of the rain pouring against the store, and you begin to gather your things (just your tattered book and backpack) until you hear something being placed in front of you. The smell of hot chocolate hits your nostrils almost immediately and you look back to the barista in confusion

"Sorry I'm late," says a boy who shouldn't be apologizing because what's he late for? Certainly not meeting you. You gulp and he smiles charmingly at the redhead standing aside of him. "Last time I heard, you can't be kicked out of a coffee shop, even if you're not a costumer."

He's being rather blunt for a boy his age but his all-teeth grin disarms the harshness of his words. The girl smirks instead of becoming enraged, looking more relieved than anything else.

"Boss's orders," she tells him before looking back at you, "sorry buddy. My mistake! I'll leave you two alone, let me know if I can get you boys anything else."

When she leaves, you slump back into your chair and expect the enticing drink before you to disappear but it remains where it is and instead, you hear the chair adjacent from you move and now you're looking at the boy who saved you.

"Can I sit here?" he asks with another easy smile. "I came here with some friends but they're a bit older and kind of boring."

You stiffly nod, unsure what to do because you're eying the cup in his hand and the separate cup in front of you. (Did he really buy you your own drink?) Without another word he rummages into his own knapsack and pulls out a portable cereal container, pouring the contents of his drink, which must be milk, into it.

You see he's eating fruit loops and your stomach clenches up in mostly silent irritation but with a sliver of familiarity, too.

You don't know why.

* * *

Turns out, as fate would have it, the same boy who saves you from the rough weather outside is the same young acrobat you applauded the day before.

The circus, Haly's Circus to be exact, is still in town for some reason or another (the boy says a few mechanical errors in some of the trailers and one of the lions is sick and needs immediate veterinary care) and so he and a few of the other acts decided to explore the city.

The rain came suddenly and shooed them into the nearest building: the coffee shop you were about to be kicked out of until he intervenes. He says he remembers you because of your hair, his vision flickering to the natural snow-white patch of tresses (a birthmark you acquired) nestled against the rest of your dark bangs, but you know it's because you're in the same exact raggedy clothes as the day before.

Still he chats with you like you're an old friend, mostly asking shallow questions that don't delve too deep and you, in turn, inquire him with the same ones.

You learn he's a few years older than you, three to be exact, even though he's only an inch or so taller, his name is Dick (you spit out the hot chocolate in your mouth when his first name rolls off his tongue) Grayson, and he really likes yours (' _Jason? It sounds nice, easy to make nicknames out of. Like Jay or Jaybird_ ') and he's an orphan just like you.

Except, he isn't like you at all. While his parents are no longer alive, you learn his loved him when they were and he has a second family in the circus, in the ringmaster and other traveling acts and workers, unlike you.

You have no one; you remind yourself that every day when you wake up with your cheek pressed against the harsh pavement.

Dick (his name tastes so funny on your lips) also has a future; still a featured act in the moving carnival — he'll always have a place to  _belong_. A place set aside of the stars in the sky, against incandescent lights and headlining performances, while you're just destined to linger in the lowly shadows of the world.

The realization is unsettling as you look at the Golden Boy in front of you.

When it's time for him to go and the skies are clear again, you begin to quietly thank him for the hot chocolate and he just shakes his head when you try to offer him the few coins rattling in your pocket and says, "take me on an adventure next time I'm here."

You think he's joking, your eyebrows furrowed, and he grins.

"Gotham's on the tour route for the next upcoming years. When the circus comes back, give the ticket cashiers your name."

You don't think you will. You just want to put this entire embarrassing situation behind you and besides, Dick will probably forget about you, the dirty homeless boy he wasted hot chocolate on, but then your chest swells uncomfortably when he smiles at you again.

"I'll be waiting, Jaybird."

* * *

When you see him again, you're eleven and the night is nearly over.

As promised, your name is on the list despite the speculation creeping behind the cashiers' eyes when you tell them your name. You don't miss the hesitation in their steps when they move aside and let you in, either.

Dick's near the trailers when you find him and now he's fourteen, a full-fledged teenager, and you wonder why he's wasting his time on a young kid like yourself but ultimately decide not to voice your question.

He's a little taller now too, having at least three or four inches on you unlike last time, but he's still the same Dick you met briefly a year ago — with a smile that's all charm and teeth and he hugs you like you've been friends with him for years. You roll your eyes and wonder if the circus is keeping his maturity at bay while you're maturing by the minute faced with daily fistfights, hungry nights, and running from the cops when a small heist goes awry.

Still you usher him away from the other kids his age, the kids who're looking at you with equal curiosity and distain in their expressions, and lead him past the crowds, past the vast lot holding the circus, and toward the city's outer limitations.

There's a lot of walking, which Dick doesn't mind, and there's a lot of talking mostly coming from him, which you  _do_  definitely mind.

You keep your answers short because even with your lack of participation,  _holy shit_ , does this kid know how to talk. He talks the whole two miles you weave him around and about dark corners of the city into unfamiliar streets and past dingy buildings.

He only shuts up, you notice, when you finally stop and point to the inky sky above you two. You're far enough from the town's artificial lights and skyscrapers that push the atmosphere away to see all the stars littered about the hazy, dark sky.

You go here sometimes when life hits you too hard, when you long for a home because this is the closest place that feels like one to you.

And honestly, you think he probably wouldn't enjoy it, because he's been to far away places you can only dream of, but by the way he's looking up at the galaxy something tells you the sky is the only place he feels attached to as well. You think maybe you were a bird in another lifetime, because all you want to do is soar and fly through the air, and you want to ask him if he feels like this too but you stop yourself.

Dick sighs next to you, taking a seat on the grassy hill you led him up, and you decide to sit down too.

This is the first time in your entire life that Dick is completely, utterly silent.

* * *

Like Dick told you it would, Haly's Circus continues to come back to Gotham year after year. And much to your feigned chagrin (but masked amusement) and his delight, you find yourself meeting back up with the boy who travels around the world and sees all its wonders.

The Boy Wonder.

You call him that sometimes even when he's not so much of a boy anymore, three years older than you, and still just a little bit taller.

He doesn't seem to mind though.

* * *

When you're sixteen and he's nineteen, he informs you with a sad smile that this is the last time he'll be in Gotham for a while.

Truthfully, you're not surprised.

Because everything you become relatively acquainted with eventually changes; moves on from you, and you, in turn, do your best to do the same.

"Why?" you ask him simply.

"Haly wants to change the tour locations up a little bit, perform in different places we haven't been to yet. I've looked over the blueprints of the next tour and I couldn't find a place that's close to Gotham either."

You lean back against the trailer, eyes transfixed on the cotton candy you bought for the two of you. Dick ate most of it already but you don't mind. You're really not that into sweets, not like Dick is.

"That sucks," you say eventually and you only look up and back toward Dick when he inhales a sharp breath. "What's wrong?"

Dick looks at you incredulously before shaking his head. For once, he isn't all smiles and charisma. A harboring sneer is curling at his lips.

"You don't really care do you, Jay?" His accusation slaps against your ears hard and you feel anger stir in your chest.

"Of course I care, you idiot," you snap back almost immediately and he clamps his mouth shut for a moment before pouting a little bit. "Why the fuck wouldn't I?"

"You're not acting like it," he hisses, "you don't even sound upset that I might not ever see you again."

"Shut the hell up," you growl and suddenly stand to your feet, throwing the last bit of cotton candy on the ground and you kick it sharply with the toe of your worn converses. Without another word, you shove your hands into your pockets and stalk off.

When he catches up with you, he forcibly pushes you and you stumble to the side a little before reeling around, eyes ablaze with repressed fury. You're taller than him finally, even though you've both got a few more years to grow, and you're bulkier from the constant street fights while he's got a smaller built, but just as toned, trying to stay as light as he can to fly effortlessly through the air.

Despite his obvious disadvantages he doesn't back down, his own anger radiating off him, and you almost flinch.

You're all enmity, always have been, hardened from the streets and orphanage but Dick's not. And that's what's scary — because Dick doesn't show that emotion often, if anytime at all, and when he's angry, he almost can't be stopped. You think if he just harnesses his anger he could be something greater than he already is. You're just not sure what.

"What do you want from me?" you snarl at him, throwing your hands up in the air in exasperation. "Want me to admit I'm bummed you're leaving? Poor little Jason Todd, the filthy fucking street rat from Gotham loses his only friend; the Golden Boy, Dick fucking Grayson. What a crying shame, huh? You want me to say I actually enjoy seeing you every year, too? Want me to admit I'm jealous of your perfect little life and how you're always gonna leave me and everyone else behind? That I wish it was me leaving, instead of you?"

You're shaking, restraining all the rage fluttering up and down your body, and you stop yourself from punching him square in the face when his hands rest on your broad shoulders.

He looks at you directly in the eyes and you wonder if you'll ever meet someone with irises as blue as his. "I'll come back for you." He tells you and you want to hit him more than before. "I'm not sure when, but I swear I will. You're my  _friend_. I'll never leave you behind, Jay."

You feel like your body's on fire, set ablaze from his touch, and you think to yourself that if you died while he was on tour in a country that feels like worlds away, he wouldn't come to your funeral.

You're sure of it.

* * *

He comes back to you like he always promises. This time, though, in pieces.

C.C. Haly, the creator of the circus, is dead and left the will in his hands. He's barely twenty-two, still fresh-faced and uncertain of the world he's seen, and there's another company, a foreign one named Saiko Corp, that wants to take over.

And you almost don't see him, because you're stubborn and bitter and when you notice the flyer for the circus's three-day extravaganza homecoming arrival, you think about setting the entire tent on fire.

Instead, you wait until it's after hours (you couldn't bring yourself to watch the show) and meet him outside his trailer, unannounced and uninvited.

The look he gives you when he recognizes you, fighting through the haze of your matured face, makes you shift uncomfortably.

He appears somewhat the same as he did three years ago with his boyish face, his left dimple still prominent on his cheek, and he's grown a few inches but remains (to your pleasure and bragging rights) shorter than you. His body's the same, sculpted as ever, and you're still broader and heavier than him just like before. Except now you've got a harsh five o'clock shadow that shows up in only two days while it looks like he couldn't grow stubble to save his life and his hair is still a little bit long, effortlessly coiffed, and yours is shorter with an undercut style.

You both look somewhat reminiscent of your youthful selves, just a lot more empty and rueful than before.

"Jason?" he asks and when you smirk at him, he smiles back. "Holy shit, man. I… I didn't think I'd ever see you again. I tried to call… to figure out where maybe you've been but… Anyway, we're almost done packing up, wanna hang out in my trailer?"

"Got another idea in mind," you tell him instead and he blinks but doesn't protest. "Come with me."

Like always, he follows without hesitation.

* * *

You show him your new apartment, not nearly as rundown as you thought your price range would give you, and he's smiling like a fucking idiot when he looks around the place.

It's not much, a worn coffee table and couch, a shitty television and a faded kitchen, but it feels like home and there's a picture you took of the night sky from the same exact spot you took him years ago hanging on your wall above your tv. Sometimes you look at it more than whatever's on the television.

"This is awesome, Jay," he says, turning to you and you can tell he's sickeningly genuine when he says, "I'm so proud of you."

"I've got my GED," you tell him next because you know he's going to go absolutely apeshit over the piece of paper left on the coffee table. You keep it there to remind yourself how long you've come since your homeless days. "I'm working at an auto shop right now and I might apply to community college next semester, maybe. Depends if I wanna get my engineering degree or not."

"Wow, Jay, that's just… jeez, that's amazing," he laughs and oh no, he's walking toward you and you try to swing the refrigerator's door in between you two but he's too fast and engulfs you in a hug.

You try not to notice how, even with his arms around you, he feels so much smaller. It's such an interesting, drastic contrast to when you were a gangly boy next to Dick who already had muscles at thirteen.

"Yeah, yeah," you mutter, shrugging him off. "Want a beer?"

"You're not twenty-one," he frowns.

You don't reply and instead crack open one of the cans and take a gracious gulp.

* * *

When you finally kiss him, it's the following day and you two are arguing over how the quantity of alcohol overrules the amount of food you have in your fridge.

You're not sure how it happens, you just know he's talking too much like always, and suddenly you're grabbing him and slamming your lips roughly against his own. When you realize what you just did, you immediately snap your head back and you're looking everywhere that isn't near Dick Grayson.

Then he steps forward, bridging the gap, and kisses you with teeth and tongue this time and you wonder why you didn't do this years ago.

When you both break apart, his pupils are blown and you begin to rapidly count to a hundred in your head to calm the growing erection in your pants.

"I've been waiting for you to do that for years," he tells you next, licking his bruised lips, and you up your count to ten thousand. "Just always thought you were too young and I didn't want to take advantage."

"Forty-three," is all you can mutter next and he doesn't even question you.

Instead, he pries forth. "But seriously, Jay, I know scientifically beer has enough nutrients to live off of, but how on earth are you gonna work without eating—"

"—will you just shut the hell up already!"

* * *

You fuck him a few months later.

The circus life is beginning to crumble between Saiko Corp, Haly's bitter son, and jealous crewmembers, and Dick's starting to crack with it.

He announces he's taking a few weeks off to relax and figure out what he's going to the do with the circus, although you know better. You know it's so he can keep his impending temper at bay, because if he succumbs to his anger, who knows what will happen with possible impulsive decisions or regrettable actions and words he could say or do under the influence of his rage.

He's got nowhere else to go, he tells you, when he shows up on your doorstep and you roll your eyes. He's got bundles of money and a thousand other friends to stay with but you don't say anything because a little part of you feels delighted over the fact that he chose you.

Not that gawky nerd, Tim Drake, that Dick talks about — the young private detective prodigy that's taken over the ongoing case of his parents' deaths, or the smart-mouthed redhead athlete, Wally West, that's currently training in California to run in the upcoming Olympics. No, Dick Grayson chose you, Jason Todd, and your seedy little apartment with a crappy couch to sleep on.

So it's only natural you offer him to sleep on your bed instead.

And when he invites you to join him, you don't hesitate.

That night you discover that, much to your pleasure, fucking him is everything you dreamed of and more.

Dick's always been a bit of a masochist, you realized this over the years of being friends with him. You might've not been around him nearly as much as his other friends had, but you could always see the flash of interest and desire in his eyes whenever you play-wrestled or literally fought him. You just never dwelled on it because you're most definitely straight, because you like pretty girls and the sway of their hips and the shape of their asses, but Dick Grayson was always special.

He always meant something different to you.

Sex with him, despite how rough it is, how your hand is tangled in his mess of hair yanking his head back, how he arches into you and lets you bite his neck until you draw blood, is different too.

He constantly fights you for control, even with your cock wedged tightly in his ass; tries to gain the upper hand by thrusting back into you, but you still win (you kind of think he lets you) and when you're close to finishing, you shove his face hard onto the mattress below him. The movement alone drives him over the edge, and you follow him shortly after.

Everything about this is fucked up and perfect at the same time and you collapse into him.

Something — something in the far back depths of your mind — is screaming for you to remember this,  _remember all of this_.

Remember the curve of his jaw, the dip of his shoulders, the small scars on his body he acquired over the years; how his heartbeat feels underneath your fingertips. Remember this.

When you fall asleep, you dream of yourself trying to claw out of a box.

Dick's there when you wake up gasping from your nightmare.

* * *

After spending a week together, ordering takeout and fucking on every available surface that you two could possibly have sex on, you decide to take him out around the city.

On the way, he runs into Tim. Well, more like, Tim sees him through a store window and eagerly runs out to greet you both (but mostly Dick) like a pathetic puppy.

He offers for you two to join him in the coffee shop he's currently researching in and Dick politely declines, but agrees to catch up for a few minutes while you smoke a cigarette outside. It's a compromise that neither of you two are overly happy about, but you both make do.

While Tim talks Dick's ear off, you're savoring the taste of your cigarette resting in between your lips when you hear a nearly incoherent voice call out to you.

You turn, facing a rather skinny guy with a straight across smile, and he's looking at you with beady black eyes. "Excuse me?" you grunt out because there's no use ignoring him; you know he's talking and looking directly at you.

He chuckles slightly and you swear you hear him say  _fag_ and you steady your voice as you say, "you mean a cigarette? Do you want one?"

He doesn't reply, just slinks into the shadows with a smile on his face, and you narrow your eyes and despite your better judgment, you follow him. He's probably leading you into some sort of scheme, but you're still somewhat of a street rat, you know how to weasel your way out of things and when you can't, you know how to forcibly punch your exit through.

So when you round the corner of the alleyway, you're kind of surprised to see him standing in front of you with no one else around. You're about to open your mouth and tell him either to fuck off or how you're going to kick his ass, when you feel something cool and hard smack against the side of your face.

You immediately taste blood.

* * *

"Todd… Todd? Fuck, Jason, please  _wake up_."

Your head is throbbing when you come to, the glare of the streetlights above you blurry and blinding, and you groan out.

"What… what happened?"

Tim's face is hovering over you and you feel your body being lifted and restrained to a board. You start to lash out and Tim's hands are on yours. "Please, Jason, please! Listen to me, I need you to calm down. You're… you're being taken to the hospital."

"Hospital?" you splutter out. "Where's Dick?"

"I'll explain everything later," Tim promises and you black out before you can force him to tell you more.

* * *

Evidently, you got your ass beat with a blunt object.

The guy, named Napier or Naper or whatever the fuck his last name was, just… snapped that day, and you were in his way or a target or something. You'll never find out.

Because Dick killed him.

All that pent up anger and rage, the same fury you thought that could make him into something great, drove him to beat the man to death.

Tim argues it was an act of defense, tries to sway the cops with his status as a detective, to let Dick go — or at least see you, but they don't. He's being held with a homicide case looming over his head and Tim's already on the phone, calling the best lawyers he can find to figure out a loophole to get Dick out of jail.

He doesn't need to anymore though when you fall victim to a violent seizure and the doctors discover your brain is swelling.

* * *

You're probably going to die. You've got this feeling that's creeping over your body like a chill, like death's icy embrace is beginning to consume you.

You hold on a little longer until the station momentarily releases Dick so he can see you in case anything else goes horribly wrong. He latches onto you immediately and you're almost embarrassed at how he's acting, how he doesn't give two fucks that you're bruised and battered with tubes in your nose and half of your hair shaved off from emergency surgery.

"I'm so fucking sorry, Jay," he says brokenly into the crook of your neck.

"For what?" you ask, leaving out 'you sappy piece of shit'.

"For not being there enough for you," he answers quietly, "Fuck, Jay, I should've been there more for you. You were only ten years old when I met you and…"

"And what?" you grit out. "You were only thirteen, remember? You helped me the best way you could. You could've just let me get kicked out of the coffee shop and rot in the sewers that day, but you didn't."

Dick looks at you for a moment, his eyes watery and his skin the palest you've ever seen it, and then he smiles weakly at you. "You know I love you, right? I think I always have, since we were kids, I just… I just didn't know it yet. I kept running away from it for years but I should've… I should've told you before I left for three years, but you were so young, Jay, I couldn't… I didn't want to fuck you up."

"Dickie," you drawl, "I've always been fucked up."

He laughs, cupping your cheek with the palm of his hand. He studies you, gauging your expression, before saying next, "Jason, I think I'm going to prison."

You feel the breath in your throat become hitched. "What? But… But Tim's getting you a lawyer and it was an act of self-defense for me."

"I killed him, Jay," he mumbles. "He ran when I found you and I chased after him and… I could've… I could've stopped, but I was furious, I couldn't see straight, and I literally beat him to death with my own hands. I… Will you wait for me if I go? I know that's an awfully terrible thing to ask, especially since I made you wait for me all those other years."

You sigh to yourself, leaning into his hand. "Of course I will, idiot, where else am I gonna find another circus freak with your ass?"

You ignore how the pit of your stomach drops a few levels as you say this. You're  _lying_. Not about waiting for him, because you know you'll always fucking wait for him, in this lifetime and in all the rest, but about the fact that you'll be alive when he gets out. You know you're dying, you're sure of it. You've never been so sure about anything else in your life; like you've felt this way before, but how? You haven't died yet.

Upon your words, Dick looks at you like you're his whole world and you wonder how long you've been looking at him the same way.

Probably since the day you first saw him flying through the air, if you're going to be honest with yourself. You've been in love with him since that exact moment because his love is just so easy, like it's been there for  _years_.

You like to think in a different world, a different galaxy or dimension, hidden across space amidst a clutter of stars and other moons and suns, that maybe you two would've worked out.

He kisses you and, for the first time ever, you feel your heart break.

* * *

When you go, you taste blood one more time.

You have another seizure, except this time, you choke and bite your tongue and your own blood gurgles in your convulsing throat. Your body burns like it's on fire and you suffocate, a frenzy of beeps and yells fading away.

The last thing you see is yourself soaring across the air, dipping toward the ground and flying back up, chasing after what you think is Dick's lithely backside, all black and blue and slick against the night's dark sky.


End file.
